


vocalize

by zhuzhubi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Character, Autistic Spencer Reid, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meltdown, Sensory Processing Disorder, i love the team but they can be very oblivious in terms of spencer, little bit of self-hatred, social obligations suck t-t
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: He tries to focus on that, tries to focus on knowledge and facts because they usually make him feel better but his thoughts are so scattered that it doesn’t help at all. It just makes him feel worse, in fact - after all, who is he without his brain, without his ability to call up facts and figures at a moment’s notice? He feels outside of himself -No, it’s more accurate to say that he feels inside of himself. So inside of himself that he can’t control his body - he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think, can’t express how he’s feeling to anyone. Can’t remove himself from the stimuli that he knows is causing this...(in which spencer has a meltdown and reader helps him out)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Kudos: 67





	vocalize

**Author's Note:**

> the sensory meltdown i wrote is based on personal experience as an autistic person and a lot of spencer’s feelings over having one are things that ive felt before, not things that are really healthy to feel long term. autism and sensory processing disorder are lifelong conditions and having meltdowns is not childish, ive just felt as if it is before. just wanted to make my view on that clear because spencer feels that way in a few parts of this fic

Spencer’s not sure what it is that compelled him to come out tonight. 

That’s not quite true, though - he _does_ know why. He felt obligated, he didn’t want his friends to think that he doesn’t like spending time with them. Even more so, he _wanted to want_ to go - he’s tired of feeling drained after work, of feeling like being around other people for so long has sucked all the energy out of him. He’s tired of feeling like he can’t do the things other people can do so effortlessly. He imagines his friends’ disappointed faces after he’s denied them for the umpteenth time and thinks _the teachers looked like that when I wouldn’t play with the other kids, Ethan looked like that when I said no to frat parties. Why can’t I just do it? Why can’t I just be normal like they all are?_

Recently, Spencer’s been feeling that way a lot of the time. He’s been feeling like he’s been turning down invitations too often. Like every _I’m tired, maybe next time_ and hurried exit is planting a seed in their minds. A seed that will only grow and grow and grow until one day they realize that he’s too clumsy, too awkward, too annoying, too needy. More than they’re willing to deal with. 

_Too much._

And so when JJ came up to his desk as he was packing up his things after work, her blue eyes bright and hopeful as she said, “Hey Spence - we’re all going out for drinks at that new bar that just opened up downtown. Would you maybe want to come?” well…he couldn’t make himself say no to her.

He wanted to say no to her so badly. And it’s not that he never wants to go out - he _does_ , sometimes. But he always feels so exhausted afterwards - the kind of exhausted that makes him want to hole up in his apartment for a week and not even have to _see_ anyone else, much less talk to them. The kind of exhausted that lingers for days and days afterwards. The kind of exhausted that makes it hard to focus on enjoyable tasks like reading or chess or watching Doctor Who, much less the work week (or urgent case) that inevitably comes too soon afterwards.

Extracurricular socialization is something that he’s wary of, even when he’s in the mood for it. And right now, hugging the wall in this bar with flashing lights and sweaty people and loud music that he doesn’t like and drinks that are way too close to getting spilled all over him, Spencer’s are not in the mood for it at all.

He’s vaguely aware of Morgan and Garcia having a conversation somewhere to his left, but can’t concentrate on what they’re saying. In fact it might not be them at all, it’s entirely possible that he lost track of them in the crowd.

All he knows for sure is that it’s noisy, and that the bass of the music is too strong, and that his ears are pulsing from the unwanted sounds, and that he desperately want to claw them off. But he can’t because he’s holding a drink and if he lets go it will fall to the floor, and then his shoes will get wet, and then his socks will stick to your feet, and then he’ll have to put up with the feeling of wet fabric against his skin and he’s nowhere close to being able to deal with that right now.

And so Spencer just stands there, completely unable to figure out what to do. His free hand comes up to cover one of his ears, but then the volume feels uneven and that somehow makes it worse so he scratches furiously at his jaw instead. He clenches his eyes shut and lets out a noise of frustration, the vibrations resonating in his throat and getting swallowed up by the music around him. He tries to focus on that, tries to focus on knowledge and facts because they usually make him feel better but -

_The larynx is at…_

_Air flows over…_

_They open and close…_

_Pressure…vibration…sound waves…oscillation…_

\- his thoughts are so scattered that it doesn’t help at all. It just makes him feel worse, in fact - after all, who is he without his brain, without his ability to call up facts and figures at a moment’s notice? He feels outside of himself -

No, it’s more accurate to say that he feels _inside_ of himself. So inside of himself that he can’t control his body - he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think, can’t express how he’s feeling to anyone. Can’t remove himself from the stimuli that he knows, he _knows_ is causing this.

It feels like he’s _stuck_ inside of himself, like he’s at the mercy of his body and his brain - like they’re betraying him. Spencer doesn’t understand why this is happening, why they always do this to him. There are people around him having fun, _able_ to have fun. Able to function in this situation. He feels angry at them, or maybe just frustrated. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs -

_How are you fine right now? It’s so painfully loud and bright and smelly and hot…why would anyone want to come here, why would my friends want to come here? It hurts it hurts, oh god it hurts so much!_

\- that his traitorous body won’t let him enjoy it too.

He came out tonight knowing this would happen, but hoping it wouldn’t. Hoping that forcing himself would make his friends happy, that it would break him out of feeling like staying home, like _I can’t handle this at all._ But he knew, Spencer _knew_ that it wouldn’t be a good night for him - he’s been feeling pretty constantly drained recently. Probably for a multitude of reasons, but all he can think about is how the lights at work have been buzzing lately. And usually he can deal with the brightness, but he cannot _cannot_ deal with the extra noise.

So Spencer concludes that he came out purely to please his friends, and now he’s ruining it all. He’s throwing a fit like a _fucking child_ who’s parents have kept him up too long. But then again, it doesn’t seem like any of his friends have noticed, so maybe he’s not bothering them after all. He doesn’t want to think about that, though, doesn’t want to think about the fact that he came out tonight for their sake and now they’re completely oblivious to what he’s sure must be fairly obvious discomfort, if not outright distress.

He knows that he’ll be embarrassed later that this happened in public, that people saw. He’ll wonder if people pointed and laughed at him, if he was the butt of jokes and slurs and -

_Mr. and Mrs. Reid, your son is very smart but he needs more discipline at home. He’s disrupting the other children with his tantrums. A word of advice from someone who’s been teaching for almost twenty years - just walk away when he cries, he needs to learn that it won’t get him out of doing things that he doesn’t want to do. Don’t enable his bad behavior, don’t encourage his tantrums_

\- Right now Spencer can’t bring himself to care at all, he just wants someone to come and help him out of this. Because he can’t get his thoughts in order well enough to figure it out himself, which means that if no one comes he’ll be forced to just wait it out. 

And who knows how long that’ll take - it’s hours away from closing time, which isn’t reassuring at all. Maybe his brain will start cooperating before then, but honestly who knows? It seems like the music is only getting louder, the bass thumping harder in his chest with every pulse - Spencer feels himself pawing at his tie, bouncing on his toes. Letting out little strangled noises and feeling the vibrations in his throat, hoping that one of those things will make everything bearable enough for him to figure out somewhere else to go.

He’s two seconds from sinking to the floor despite it’s germy-ness and bursting into tears when Spencer feels the warmth of a body appear beside him. An involuntary whimper escapes his lips and he leans away from them, gripping onto his tie and bouncing and trying to will himself to open his eyes -

“Are you alright?” the person asks, their voice barely distinguishable from all the other noise.

He’s trying his best to understand, he really is - it’s just hard. It takes him a moment to figure out the question, but then he can’t figure out how he should respond -

_Sometimes when people ask if you’re okay, they just want you to say yes and they’ll get upset if you say no. I’m not sure why this person is asking, so I should look at body language for clues. But my eyes are closed and if I open them I’ll have to see all the bright lights again, so that’s a no. What should I do? I’m not sure what to do, I’m not sure_

\- He opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is the choked noise of words getting caught in his throat. He tries again and again only to find that his voice still isn’t working, that he can’t force words up his throat. And then Spencer starts to panic because while losing his voice isn’t anything new, it’s still _scary_ when he can’t communicate, when he can’t answer questions or tell someone what he needs right now. He wants to ask the person if they can help him make it out of the bar, but he just isn’t sure how.

“Spencer, Spencer breathe. That’s it, you’re okay. I know you’re feeling overwhelmed right now, I’m gonna try my best to help you, alright?”

_Yes,_ he wants to say, _Yes, that sounds amazing._ He manages to force out a nod, bobbing his head in the familiar up and down motion - it feels good, and so he keep going _up and down and up and down_ , trying to replace all the unwanted sensations with more desirable ones.

“Is it okay for me to touch you?”

Spencer doesn’t really want the person to touch him, but he gets the feeling that it’s going to be a decision between opening his eyes and accepting physical contact for what will hopefully be a brief period of time. And opening his eyes feels impossible right now, so he shoves an arm in their direction and hopes the message gets across.

He feels a glass being gently pried from his fingers - the person tries to take his hand and he immediately shrink away, tapping his middle finger against his thumb and trying to chase away the sensation of someone’s skin against his own. 

“Spencer?” the person says and he remembers that they’re his ticket to getting out of here, that if he can push through being touched for a little while then he can escape from the noise, the lights, the smells. But he still can’t bring himself to let them touch his hand, so he offers his forearm instead, keeping up with the steady tapping of his fingers.

They tentatively reach out and brush a hand against his arm, gaining confidence when he tenses but allows it. Their touch is light and Spencer don’t like that at all - he pushes his arm into their palm until they grip it tighter, applying pressure that feels good in a way he hadn’t imagined it would. 

The person seems to understand that he won’t be able to tolerate this for long because the next thing Spencer knows he’s being led through the crowd, ushered towards some unknown destination that he can only hope will be better than where he is right now. It’s unbearable for a while - there are sweaty people on every side of him, noise everywhere, lights -

The night air feels cool against his cheeks and down his throat. The noise is fading away in the background, no longer so painfully loud. The person releases his arm and lets out a sigh of relief - so does Spencer. He can feel the tension leaving his body, the control sinking back into his limbs now that everything painful is further away from him. 

He musters up the courage to blink open his eyes, squinting down at his shoes as he takes deep breaths to try and soothe himself. He’s exhausted and drained, yes, but everything feels much more _okay_ now. It feels like he can breathe again - he’s still feeling too much, but at least it’s at a manageable level. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he realizes has voice has returned, “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“It was no problem, Spencer”

A sudden jolt runs through his body - _how do they know my name? W-who…?_

“Look up,” they say and Spencer realizes that he’s still looking down at the floor. When he looks up, relief washes over him - it’s no stranger standing across from him.

“(y/n),” he mumbles, “the librarian”

They chuckle in response, courteous to keep their voice soft so the sound won’t overwhelm his tired ears. “Yep. (y/n) the librarian,” they say with a smile.

He feels like maybe he should be embarrassed, but…somehow he isn’t. He sees (y/n) almost every time he visits the library - they never care when he don’t make eye contact, they’re never upset when he’s not up for a conversation as they check out his books. Even now, after just witnessing him have a meltdown, they’re not looking at him any differently. They aren’t pitying him, or annoyed with him, or disgusted by him, or anything like that at all.

That’s something to think about later, though - right now, he really just wants to go home. Spencer really, _really_ doesn’t have the energy for social obligations, or even _any_ conversation at all. So he stutters out a second, “T-thank you. Um, bye!” and heads for the nearest Metro stop, thinking about how much better he’ll feel once he’s curled up with a book at home.

…

_(y/n) smiles after him, chuckling to themself as he goes. Once he’s disappeared around the corner, they put their hands in their pockets and turn to head back inside and rejoin their friends. But something gives them pause - the feeling of a cardstock rectangle against their fingers that definitely wasn’t there before. They pull it out and discover that it’s a particular someone’s business card, and can’t help but grin to themself as they make their way back into the bar._

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr @zhuzhubii :)


End file.
